


Let It Snow

by Highly_Illogical



Series: Kowalski Family Snapshots [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Food, Kissing, Snow, Songfic, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 17:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highly_Illogical/pseuds/Highly_Illogical
Summary: A cozy evening at the Goldstein residence.A snowstorm is raging outside, but Jacob and Queenie are in their own little bubble of happiness and couldn't care less.Inspired byLet It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne.





	Let It Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> This series is still alive, and the Christmas mood is contagious!  
> You can listen to a version of _Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!_ (lyrics by Sammy Cahn, music by Jule Styne) [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGRC2LYmHfU) to get in the mood.  
>  It was originally sung by Vaughn Monroe in 1945, but I chose the version by Frank Sinatra because I happen to think that he makes a stunningly good soundtrack for Jacob and Queenie (seriously, just go listen to _Witchcraft_ and _That Old Black Magic_ and tell me I'm wrong if you dare).

_Oh the weather outside is frightful_

_But the fire is so delightful_

_And since we've no place to go_

_Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!_

Winter in New York was a bleak, unforgiving thing that soaked deep into your bones and never quite left until spring. It even looked pretty at the beginning, when the snow first stuck to the ground and the urban jungle turned into a frosty wonderland overnight, but the pristine whiteness never resisted the assault of thousands of busy feet very long, and it was soon turned into a treacherous layer of dirty, slippery sludge, as if the grey of the city were contagious.

At least, Jacob reasoned as he trudged through the streets, the vicious little pinpricks of yet more snow hitting whatever exposed skin they could reach, the few brave fools who felt like facing the cold just to have some treats were particularly eager buyers: he offered them a bright smile and a few minutes of warm, sweet-smelling respite, and they never really wanted to leave—and the longer they stayed, the more likely they were to indulge in some more purchases. Today had been a good day: Mrs. Malinowski from across the street had rambled on and on about some friends coming over and had nearly cleaned out the paczki for the occasion, he’d been commissioned two different birthday cakes, and a little brat of a girl had whined and pulled on her mother’s sleeve until she’d caved and bought her some Demiguise pastries, not that he was calling them that in public.

He could see only one fitting celebration for such a triumph, he smiled to himself as he tiptoed past the dwelling of the ever-vigilant monster known as Tina and Queenie’s landlady, knowing that his cheerful train of thought would announce him. He’d never once been caught, and he was beginning to believe that Mrs. Esposito was either oblivious to the point of sheer idiocy, or knew more than she let on and was willing to let it go.

“Oh, honey, you’re freezing!” was all the greeting he got before Queenie pulled him in to kiss him hello. It was hard to tell which warmed him more, that or the fireplace already crackling merrily and melting away some of the bitter cold that seemed to follow him wherever he went these days.

The snowstorm was picking up, great white flurries fluttering past the window, and he didn’t care. He had a hankering to stay forever.

_It doesn't show signs of stopping_

_And I've bought some corn for popping_

_The lights are turned way down low_

_Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!_

Watching popcorn being made with magic was officially the second prettiest thing Jacob had ever seen (the first being the woman making it, of course). Queenie’s wand was like a conductor’s baton directing a music that wasn’t there, and the kernels followed it in a sort of swirling dance, popping in midair like white flowers bursting into bloom before his eyes in a symphony of sharp little noises and depositing themselves into the bowl, obedient little soldiers, toasty warm and ready to be eaten.

 _She makes everything beautiful_ , was the only coherent thought he could put together, and he could see her smiling at it out of the corner of his eye.

“Aww, thanks, sugar.”

She always had a habit of answering to things that hadn’t been said, but whatever small part of him might have found that unsettling had long since been smothered. She had a sort of power over him that went far beyond her magic—namely, the power to make a grown man act like a smitten schoolboy. It was almost embarrassing, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Tina was working late again (“So what else is new?” said Queenie airily, trying to hide her worry about whatever might be keeping her sister from home this time and failing so miserably that he felt like he was reading her like an open book, for once in his life), they had the house to themselves and a snack to share: Jacob had never had a definition of a perfect night, but this had to be pretty darn close.

Popcorn was a silly indulgence, nowhere near the fare you might find in a fancy restaurant where every dish had a needlessly long French name he couldn’t pronounce and was probably worth half the contents of his bakery, but it had its advantages.

It meant flicking little bits of corn at each other in a playful fight with no winners as they sat by the fire sharing stories about everything and nothing, Queenie’s engagement ring shining with promise in the dim light as she gestured for extra dramatic flair, tossing her head back and laughing with abandon.

It meant accidentally-on-purpose going for the bowl at the same time, fingers brushing and then latching together as they reached for more.

And so they whiled away the evening, trading tales of their youth and sharing slow, lazy kisses with an aftertaste of salt in between, and without quite knowing when or how, Jacob found himself threading his fingers through her hair like you might pet a purring housecat, her head resting gently on his shoulder.

She told him the story of that one time at Ilvermorny when her potion was supposed to turn out blue and instead became a stubborn mass of lurid pink muck that refused to be salvaged in any way; determined to do her one better, he countered with the wildly exaggerated account of when he was ten years old and had foolishly thought he was finally old enough to bake a cake all by himself, and the burnt smell of his sad, charred failure had taken days to leave Grandma’s kitchen completely.

Perfect night indeed.

_When we finally kiss good night_

_How I’ll hate going out in the storm!_

_But if you’ll really hold me tight_

_All the way home I’ll be warm_

“All good things come to an end,” he said with a half-hearted attempt to disentangle himself.

“Mmm.” Her whiny, wordless plea rooted him to the spot with the same force as a spell. “Stay a little longer?”

“I can’t, doll.”

“Please?” Oh, those eyes would be the death of him.

“I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“You never have a morning that _isn’t_ early.”

“You brought this on yourself the day you said yes to a baker, hon,” Jacob sighed. “I don’t like this any more than you do.” He shot a dubious look at the window. “Going home in this weather is no fun when you can’t do that disappearing thing.”

“I’m so sorry I can’t just take you,” said Queenie, a painful reminder of their decision not to risk having too much magic happening near the bakery just in case. “I hate the thought of you all alone in the snow.”

“One last kiss for the road?”

She latched onto that like a thirsty woman in the middle of the desert, limbs gripping tight with a force that didn’t match her graceful frame, hungry lips lingering.

“Well,” he said slyly, his head still reeling a bit, “ _that_ ought to keep the cold away.”

_The fire is slowly dying_

_And, my dear, we're still goodbying_

_But as long as you love me so_

_Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!_

Neither of them could bring themselves to care about anything but each other enough to get up (or just flick a wand in the general direction of the fireplace, as the case may be) and keep the flames alive, and so now the last flickering embers were cutting their night short, as if reminding them of their duties to the rest of the world.

Frankly, Jacob had quite forgotten there _was_ a world outside.

Their goodbyes were longer than they had any sensible reason to be, both of them fishing desperately for more and more ridiculous excuses for one last touch (Queenie took her sweet time to fix his slightly disheveled clothes to perfection by hand, when she could have just run her wand down his body and made him look like a mannequin in an expensive shop in seconds), one last kiss, one last word.

“I don’t want to go,” he mumbled plaintively into their final hug at the door.

“Then don’t,” she said, clearly not believing a word of it.

“And get you kicked out of your apartment?”

“That might speed things along,” answered Queenie without missing a beat, the diamond on her finger a tempting reminder that someday, hopefully someday _soon_ , there would be no more goodbyes.

“I know, babe. But for now…” he shivered in anticipation of the barrage of cold that awaited him, “it’s back to the snow for me.”

“See you soon. Love ya.”

Well, those were the best parting words he could think of. He almost, _almost_ couldn’t feel the cold as they kept echoing in his ears. As long as he had that to come back to, the skies could do whatever they pleased. He had no love for New York winters, but honestly…

Let it snow.


End file.
